It is the end of an era, nearly. The 22nd of June is upon us and the living is not easy. Gone are the optimistic early summer days of bank accounts filled with graduation checks, stacks of preprinted thank you notes untouched on the table. Even more, I miss the late spring days-the year book signings predicting your life as a golden road stretching out before you, the phone number cheerfully given after one last meeting, the giggles shared in grad gowns.

Now it is mid summer, and the 90 degree heat causes my every proposed move to hang limp in the air. The room is strewn with construction paper for an unmade scrap book, abandoned to avoid thinking about others' summer adventures. The kanji cards lay in their coffee bucket and the computer paper for the comic gets wrinkled as it is accidentally sat on. No building up of the archives here. The job applications scatter to building after building to the constant chant of 'No jobs here.' The phone is silent, as phone numbers are lost, and people road trip in the bright sun.

In the dim light of my family room, there is a humming of the Sharper Image fan amid the stacks of CDs and movies I plan to sell just to get them out of the house. Breakfast of Champions lays half finished on mailing envelopes. The few pin pricks to my bubble of isolation draw blood. A new boyfriend here, a road trip there, a new job over here. The hot cement seems to be waiting for something. The housing assignment is in, my future is sealed. Soon, I'll go out into the world. I don't think it'll change its spin.

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